


Red

by AvaRose



Category: I Love Yoo (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Denied Feelings, F/M, Hanahaki Disease, Hospitals, Language of Flowers, Pining, red carnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-04-27 14:02:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14426937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaRose/pseuds/AvaRose
Summary: Red carnations.Red petals cascading from his mouth, carpeting the floor.Red blood dripping on his palms.Red eyes of an identical shade piercing his soul.(Kousuke’s feelings have a will of their own and flowers well up in his lungs.)





	1. She

**Author's Note:**

> There are not enough I Love Yoo fanfics out there. So there, here’s one.  
> Enjoy :)

 Red carnations.

Red petals cascading from his mouth, carpeting the floor.

Red blood dripping on his palms.

Red eyes of an identical shade piercing his soul.

Water fast washes it away, crimson liquid swirling down the tap. An intake of breath isn’t enough to clear the scarlet flowers clogging his airways. A sigh follows, than cough, and a second, and soon Kousuke’s bracing himself on the bathroom’s marble counter with one hand, another clamped over his mouth.

Suppressing the coughing is futile, he’s learned it by now, yet he clings on the shreds of his dignity even if no one but his own reflection witnesses his fall. He’s powerless against the surge of petals, dyeing in ruby the immaculate ivory of the counter.

Red carnations.

Red drops leaking between his fingers.

Red lips quivering as they struggle to draw air.

Red eyes challenging him, fire smouldering within.

Water cleanses the mess. It’s like pressing rewind.

The watch wrapped around his wrist shows him it’s time to leave. There’s no hesitation as Kousuke leaves the bathroom and heads towards the exit, not even glancing at the spotless kitchen. The only thought of food makes the flowers’ roots grow deeper in his stomach.

His driver waits for him outside and doesn’t mention his lateness. He’s five minutes off schedule, but it shouldn’t show in his workload today. Even despite his... condition, it doesn’t hinder his skills. Moving the garbage can closer to his desk and emptying it personally a few times a day is enough to solve this problem.

No attacks hit him for the entire morning but the uneasiness in his chest blooms with each breath he takes. Sheer will won’t save him, not this time. He’s grown accustomed to the ache permeating his entire body, crushing his lungs and gnawing at his heart, thus he can calculate the exact moment when his body will reach its limit.

 

After ensuring that no one comes in, Kousuke bends over and grasps the trash bin. He’s still reluctant to let go, even after a few days. He abhors the utter vulnerability he exudes. His face gets even wanner in contrast with the vibrant crimson his body expels, almost making him translucent.

Red carnations.

Red filling the bin in a few seconds.

Red staring back at him, as if mocking.

Red eyes haunting his days and nights, no matter how hard he tries to shut them out.

“Kousuke? What are you doing?”

He stiffens, putting the garbage can under his desk. The voice belongs to his brother, not inquisitive, not even derisive, with a curiosity that nears naivety.

“I’m searching for a pen I dropped.”

The pretence is tasteless and even sounds false to his ears, but Yeong-Gi edges closer, declaring, “I’ll help you find it.”

Kousuke’s lips twitch in a grimace yet flatten once more. He wipes his mouth, careful to clear any evidence away, and while his stomach still lurches, he straightens and faces the redhead.

“No need. It can wait. What can I do for you, Nol?”

“Handing you out the documents. I got through them all.”

Yeong-Gi’s nonchalant, dropping the documents on his desk before shoving his hands in his pockets. Kousuke doesn’t bother browsing through the files to check if his younger brother did a good job. He already knows it’s the case.

“Then you can do this.” He takes out a folder that he slides across the desk. “I’m certain it’ll occupy you for more than a morning.”

“Don’t be so sure. I’m learning quite fast.”

“Yes, that you are.” Yeong-Gi stares at him and Kousuke’s frown deepens. “It wasn’t condescending. I was merely agreeing with the fact you just said.”

“It’s not that.” Yeong-Gi mumbles, his eyes stealing furtive glances at Kousuke.

“Then what is it?” As the silence between stretches, he rolls his eyes, irritated. “Fine, tell me when you want to.”

“There are...” The redhead gestures vaguely towards his neck. “Some kind of stains on your shirt.”

His heart sinks deeper in the moss wallpapering his chest cavity. The shirt he wore today is of a pale blue colour, undoubtedly highlighting the treacherous scarlet.

“I apologise for this ghastly sight. I’ll make sure to stand out of your way today so you won’t lose your focus.”

Yeong-Gi frowns back, “It’s not going to make me lose my focus. It’s just that your shirt is dirty and I thought I’d let you know if you want to change.”

His brother doesn’t understand what the dirt is. He probably thinks it’s raspberry jam or stains of red wine or even cranberry sauce. Still, the longer he stares, the longer Kousuke fears that Yeong-Gi would discover that it’s far more serious than anything related to food.

“Your kindness knows no bounds,” Kousuke deadpans, swivelling on his seat. “You can leave now.”

He watches on the window’s reflection his brother leaving his office, closing the door behind him. As soon as it’s shut, he clutches his chest with a wince. The garden within him was spreading at an alarming rate. It’s been ten days exactly now, ten days of concealing, of coughing in his handkerchief, of washing his clothes thrice a day, of suffocating alone.

He’s not foolish enough as to tell himself the disease will fade away. Rather the opposite, he’s aware of how much it grew since the symptoms began. However, he’s foolish enough to do nothing about it.

He’s been wondering about it before the flowers appeared. About his feelings towards someone with red eyes. He doesn’t like her, not really, but she’s different from the other women always walking on eggshells around him as they tried to flirt with him. She’s a breath of fresh air in this stale routine.

Yet the flowers pouring from his mouth indicate two things he denied. One, she doesn’t love him. Two, he loves her.

Red carnations.

Red spots widening on his shirt.

Red burning his lungs, scorching his throat.

Red eyes looking away from him, uninterested.

Kousuke’s not a fool. The reason he even met Miss Yoo Shin-ae is through his younger brother. The chemistry between them is far more present than between Yeong-Gi and his inexistant girlfriend, and Kousuke first observed their exchanges from afar. It became obvious Yeong-Gi desired her friendship, her trust, her affection, similarly to the way he wanted Kousuke to recognise him as his brother when they were younger.

 

But with Miss Yoo, he wouldn’t give up like Kousuke forced him to give up. With his brother’s cheerful attitude and the physique he has, it’s no wonder that Miss Yoo developed sentiment towards him.

With Kousuke’s cold demeanour and the perpetual frown he has, it’s no wonder that Miss Yoo never looked at him twice.

It’s only fair, he assumes, that his brother finds happiness when Kousuke was the first one to deny it to him by refusing to acknowledge him in their youth. It’s only fair, he tells himself, that it’s his turn to suffer. It’s only fair, he decides, that he doesn’t ruin their blossoming relationship, even if it might just save his life.

The phone on his desk rings and he accepts the call. His brother’s light voice fills the office.

“Kousuke, I’m going to grab lunch at Wacdonalds next door. You want anything?”

“No, thank you Nol.”

He probably should’ve said yes since he didn’t eat this morning. It doesn’t matter anymore since Yeong-Gi already hung up. He was rather overzealous to go the fast food restaurant next door and if he knew better, Kousuke would think his brother wanted to avoid doing his work. Today is Thursday, and Miss Yoo usually has shifts on Thursdays, so they eat greasy food on Thursdays.

When was the last time Kousuke was Miss Yoo? It must’ve been on his birthday. The memories rush to him and he grits his teeth. His mother has no shame. To manipulate Miss Yoo and try to set them together... It wouldn’t work. Kousuke knows now.

Red carnations.

Red heart pumping too fast.

Red everywhere, hazy because of the tears clouding his vision.

Red eyes that would never consider him as something more than ‘Mr Hirahara’.

That’s enough. The trash bin overflows with petals. The papers on his desk are untouched. If it keeps going on like this, then it’ll impact the business and he’ll have to step down. The only option he has left is to undergo the surgery.

To forget the one beautiful smile he saw her make. To erase the smoothness of her skin when he put his hand on hers. To delete how she warms his hollow heart with a few words or one gaze. To go back to the start without these unwanted feelings taking root.

It’s the most logical option, so why is regret already clawing at his soul?

 

* * *

 

An appointment with a doctor is settled in the evening. It’s better to do it today rather than postpone it tomorrow. His resolve’s already eroding, so it might just crumble if he waits too long.

  
The day is an interminable loop of coughing, throwing up and emptying his garbage can. Of the one hundred and sixty-two documents awaiting his signature or demanding his attention, not even half of them are done by the end of the day. Kousuke considers staying in his office until all the work is done but he can’t lie to himself. He’s just searching for an excuse not to go to the hospital.

  
Most employees leave between five and six. Yeong-Gi lingers around until six thirty, perhaps in the hopes of confronting him about his dirty shirt. Jayce, after he insists, departs at seven o’clock but not without advising him to rest as well. As the clock’s hands near nine, Kousuke is still drowning in paperwork but he rises and leaves.

  
The air outside is chilly. The sky is clouded, heavy with rainwater, but doesn’t pour yet. The weather forecast said the rain would start as a light drizzle in the night before becoming heavier showers for the whole weekend. It doesn’t bother him much. He was planning to catch up with his work on Saturday and Sunday.

  
The Wacdonalds beside Hirahara Corps is still illuminated, a few customers eating in empty booths. The door swings open as three employers leave, their shift done. One of them makes Kousuke’s chest rumble as the flowers shift, as if turning to face the sun.

  
“Miss Yoo.”

  
She turns around but Kousuke doesn’t meet her eyes. He’s staring ahead, waiting for his driver to pick him up. It shouldn’t be long now.

  
“Mr Hirahara.”

  
So she forgot what he told her, to call him by his first name. Kousuke’s not disappointed. If anything, it’s another proof that the surgery’s the sole viable solution.

  
“Are you going home, Miss Yoo?” Even if staying close to her might deteriorate his condition, he’ll be damned if he doesn’t remain gallant. “My driver will be here soon.”

  
“That’s nice of you but I’m going to your hospital.”

  
He glances at her. Except for the bags weighing down her lids, she looks alright. Appearances can be deceiving. He’s a perfect example. Therefore he shifts, forgetting all about trying to avoid her, and she looks up at him.

  
“Do you feel ill?”

  
“I’m not going there for me,” she corrects, and even despite thorny vines constricting his lungs, breathing’s easier for a moment. “It’s my father.”

  
Kousuke inclines his head. “I’m sorry to hear this. Let me drive you to the hospital then. It’s the least I can do.”

  
“You’ve already done a lot.”

  
He has no idea what she’s talking about so he keeps quiet. She doesn’t elaborate, sending his mind spiralling with improbable scenarios. When it concerns her, his head tends to lose grip on reality. He prides himself with rationality but somehow, any logical thoughts might disappear if she’s involved. It’s rather unnerving.

  
The car arrives after a minute of complete silence. This, also, is rather unnerving. Yeong-Gi has no trouble chattering and brightening the mood. Kousuke, on the other hand, is a human icicle. Shin-ae, perhaps oblivious, is pulling the two brothers in her orbit, one vigorous sun and one dying star.

  
“Hirahara Hospital,” he tells the driver as soon as they’re seared.

  
The driver doesn’t question them and steers away from Wacdonalds. In the rearview mirror, Kousuke watches her sink on the backseat, her eyes red like carnations.

  
When they reach their destination, he’s quick to get out of his seat to open the back door. She looks at him with a small bow signifying her thanks before heading towards the hospital. After telling the driver to wait for him, Kousuke catches her up in long strides and they reach the reception desk together. The receptionist’s slouched position vanishes instantly, her back suddenly straight and her lips curled in a pleasant smile.

  
“Mr Hirahara, how may I help you?”

  
Shin-ae startles and frowns at him, “What are you doing? Are you following me?”

  
“You’re not the only one who had to go to the hospital tonight.”

  
Any sign of wariness disappears, replaced with something akin to concern. “Are you alright?”

  
“Just a routine check.”

  
The lie effortlessly rolls of his tongue, but she keeps glancing at him as if she knew. While the receptionist calls his doctor, he senses Shin-ae’s red eyes inspecting him.

  
“A routine check this late?”

  
“It was the only time it could fit my schedule. I’m a busy man.”

  
“The doctor will arrive soon, Mr Hirahara.”

  
“Perfect. Miss Yoo would like to visit her father,” he informs the receptionist. “You shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

  
“Ah yes. Of course.”

  
Her father’s located on the tenth floor. Similarly to Hirahara Corps, the hospital’s levels represent an implied hierarchy. The higher the floor, the higher in society.

  
A nurse is called to lead her to the correct room but before Shin-ae leaves with her, Kousuke bids her father a prompt recovery. The small smile he receives as an answer is nothing like the precedent; it lacks authenticity and brilliance.

  
The doctor arrives seconds after they left. They go to the top floor, the twenty-second, which has a panoramic view on the city. It belongs entirely to the Hirahara but it must be Kousuke’s third or fourth time that he came on the spacious floor.

  
“What can I do for you, Mr Hirahara?”

  
“I want this matter to stay strictly confidential. It concerns the Hanahaki disease.” The doctor’s eyes widen of a fraction but Kousuke doesn’t leave him time to speak. “Do you know what it is?”

  
“Y-Yes, I do, Mr Hirahara. If I may ask, how much time’s passed since it first began?”

  
“Ten days.”

  
Has it truly been less than two weeks? The exhaustion must’ve been accumulating before the flowers first made themselves known and skyrocketed then. The doctor nods, clasping his hands together and putting them in front of him on his desk.

  
“The disease spreads depending of numerous factors that have yet to be determined, but the life expectancy vary between a few months to a year at most.”

  
“I intend to undergo the surgery to remove the flowers in the next few days.”

  
The doctor’s face which was set in stone flickers with emotions. “Mr Hirahara, do you know that this surgery is irreversible?”

  
“I’m well aware.”

  
“Like any surgery, there also is a risk that you might die.”

  
Kousuke folds his arms, scowling, “Are you trying to dissuade me, Doctor?”

  
“I want you to know what this surgical removal entails,” the man rectifies after a few beats. “The feelings you have will be totally erased and they will never come back. Also, there’s a risk you’ll never be able to love again.”

  
This isn’t a problem. It’s not like he needs love to be efficient. He’s managed without it for more than twenty years. He’ll manage without it for the next years, if he survives the operation.

  
“I want it scheduled as soon as possible,” he replies, his tone final.

  
The doctor nods, biting his lower lip. “Does Thursday afternoon fit your agenda?”

  
“Yes. Thank you for your time.”

  
Kousuke stands up and heads towards the door. His lungs protest at the sudden movement but he refuses to throw up in front of someone else. Thus he clenches his jaw, looking away from the doctor’s gaze full of pity, and storms out of the room.

  
In the elevator, he turns away from the security camera and coughs into his palms. The petals paint his skin red. The coughing is an earthquake tearing him apart and through the fissures it creates, dozens of flowers bloom and curl around his ribs.

  
“Tenth floor,” a mechanical voice announces and the doors slide.

  
“Ah, Mr Hirahara.”

  
Of course. Of all people taking the elevator with him, it has to be Miss Yoo. He stuffs the petals in his pockets, ignoring the water gathering in his eyes and his chest heaving.

  
“Mr Hirahara, what’s wrong?”

  
He turns his head away, his bangs hiding his face. “I’m fine, Miss Yoo.” His voice’s hoarse but he doesn’t clear his throat. He’s afraid more flowers would come out. “Don’t concern yourself.”

  
“Well I am concerned. Show me your face.”

  
He must’ve known. She’s one of the most stubborn people he knows. Plus, there is no malice in her voice. She wants to help but he’s beyond any help. The roots are expanding too fast and destroying him. The flowers’ growth saps his energy and steals his breath.

  
“I know it wasn’t a routine check,” she mumbles to herself since Kousuke remains silent and still. “It may be noble of you to keep things to yourself so you won’t worry anyone, but people will worry anyway. You don’t have to tell me. I’d understand if you don’t want because we don’t know each other very well but at least, tell your family, or just one person you trust if you prefer.”

  
The elevator reaches the first floor. His feet lead him away, not stopping even when her hand tries to grasp his coat to slow him down, or when her voice calls his name. His whole body’s on autopilot but facing a crisis at the same time.

  
He barely has the time to stumble out of the hospital before his knees give in, collapsing on the cold asphalt, and his body shrivelling on itself.

  
Red carnations.

  
“Mr Hirahara? Mr Hirahara, oh my god—”

  
Red alarms blaring in his head because she’s there.

  
Her hand’s rubbing circles on his back.

  
Red cheeks, flushed in humiliation.

  
She whispers that it’s going to end soon, that everything will be alright.

  
Red eyes brimming with tears observing him.

  
“You’re in love.”

  
Her voice breaks on the last word. His voice is not strong enough yet so he nods slowly, his breath coming out in pants. She looks away, her eyebrows furrowing as she seems to debate with herself.

  
“Is it Megan?”

  
He almost chokes again but with his own saliva instead of petals. “Dear God, _no_.”

  
He expects her to laugh in a teasing manner since her experience with Megan was quite horrid as well, but there’s no hint of laughter or even relief on her face. She was avoiding his eyes and wearing the same frown. Perhaps unaware of it, her hands were tugging at her coat’s frayed edge.

  
“I... I’m sorry.” She murmurs, staring at the heap of bloodstained petals on the ground.

  
“About?”

  
“That he or she doesn’t love you back.”

  
“She,” he clarifies. “She. A beautiful woman.”

  
He wobbles a little on his feet before rising to his full height. She mirrors him, even her head doesn’t even reach his chin. Self-conscious, he wipes his mouth with a handkerchief. From the corner of his eyes, he spots the dark car waiting for him.

  
“Do you want a lift home?”

  
She shakes his head. “It’s ok. I need some fresh air.”

  
“Are you sure? I’m offering.”

  
She spins on her heels. “I said it’s ok. But thanks.”

  
And Kousuke remains rooted on the spot, watching her fading away.


	2. He

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much angst and misunderstanding.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

He’s in love.

 

He groans, rolling on his side in his bed. His head replays the scene relentlessly: his knees buckle and he’s on the ground, bent over in half with his eyes screwed shut as a torrent of petals unfurls from his lungs. His body can’t stop spasming and his breathing’s erratic and too fast, and he’s afraid he’ll die in front of her.

 

He’s dying, in a way.

 

Surprise has been etched on her features and her hands, hesitant to reach for him, shaking. Kousuke doesn’t look in love. People in love are supposed to smile more. They’re supposed to be more distracted than usual. They’re supposed to have a distant look in their eyes.

 

But he remains as impassable as ever. If anything, it’s Yeong-Gi who fits the description of a person in love. But if Yeong-Gi loves her, then it’s reciprocated since Kousuke’s not seen him struggling against the disease. It’s most logical that Shin-ae would prefer the younger Hirahara brother.

 

There’s nothing much interesting about Kousuke.

 

_Is it Megan?_

 

He’d rather die than fall in love with her. Besides, even if the annoying woman’s feelings towards him are undoubtedly motivated by money and the promise of a higher status, they still are present. The thought that Megan contracted Hanahaki disease because of him flickers in his mind but he voids it. The woman’s love is mechanical, without passion.

 

Unlike his.

 

_It may be noble of you to keep things to yourself so you won’t worry anyone, but people will worry anyway._

 

Was she worrying about him? Was she awake right now, lying in her bed, and staring at the ceiling? Was she thinking about him like he was thinking about her? Or was she asleep soundly, dreaming of nothingness?

 

He turns on his back. Taking the surgery is the right thing to do. Love is a superfluous feeling. It comes and goes, listening to a heart’s whims, and rarely anchors itself. His father’s absence shows him it’s possible to live without love. His mother’s manipulative attitude shows him it’s possible to live without love. His brother’s wariness whenever they’re together shows him it’s possible to live without love.

 

Sleep eludes him for the entirety of the night, which is spent in the bathroom. His energy fades away like waves receding from a beach though the pain won’t ebb; it grows. The vines covering his lungs are unyielding and tighten. The roots buried in his chest dig even deeper, destroying his bones. The petals swirl and surge forward, filling his mouth.

 

When morning comes, the bathtub is a canvas of red carnations. His phone vibrates alone on the night stand where he’s left it. Three messages illuminate the screen, unanswered, unseen.

 

 **08:47** — **From: Nol**

_Where are you? You have an rdv with a Terushima guy in 10 mins and the dude’s already waiting in the lobby?_

 

 **09:13** _—_ **From: Nol**

_Ok he’s angry what do i do_

 

 **09:38**  —  **From: Nol**

_I calmed him down somehow. Ask Jayce for the new rdv. You’re welcome_

 

Around noon the phone lights up again, this time ringing. The shrill sound echoes in the penthouse and stops after a few seconds, redirecting the call to voicemail.

 

“Hey, it’s me again,” Yeong-Gi’s voice, gruffer than usual, plays from the phone. “I’m not mad at you, not really, so you can answer my texts. It’d just be nice that you warn us if you don’t come to the office... Anyway, call me back.”

 

Kousuke doesn’t call him back.

 

* * *

 

He’s in love.

 

Shin-ae barely focuses on what her teacher writes on the blackboard. She’s watching outside the rain pouring down on the school premises without really seeing it. Her reflection, speckled with droplets, sighs.

 

Q-Tip’s in love.

 

She never would’ve guessed until she saw the flowers he coughed up. He holds himself as poised as ever and his eyes have their usual sharpness... but he’s dying. How much time has it been? The searches she did the night before all reach the same conclusions: one dies from unreciprocated love, one is cured if the love is mutual, or one removes the flowers and erases all traces of feelings.

 

Shin-ae doesn’t picture him letting them decide his fate and dying, but her heart aches at the thought of him choosing the surgery. It’s sad, she supposes, that the woman he’s in love with will never know about how much he loves her. She’ll never know about the flowers she grew unbeknownst to her. She’ll never feel something for him since he’s cutting the bridge between them without giving her the chance to cross it. She’ll live her life, perfectly oblivious as to how she impacted this man’s life, how he longed for her in the shadows, how he didn’t trust her enough to love him back.

 

On the other hand, it takes courage to admit one’s feelings while knowing they’ll most certainly be rejected. Shin-ae can’t help but think about Dieter. Even if they’re friends now, she didn’t forget his face red as beet, his shaking hands as they held her an origami flower, his rigid bow as he declared his love in a stuttering voice. She can’t imagine Kousuke being so flustered around The Woman.

 

Using a business pretext, he’d invite her to one of his fancy restaurants. He would eat nothing but desserts as a last try to ease his nervousness. He would observe her with dejected features when he thinks she’s not looking. Right before they’d leave, he’d rise and take one of her hands, daring to look at her in the eyes, and tell her something among those lines:

 

“I’m afraid I feel something towards you that transcends friendship. I already know you don’t share my feelings. I didn’t invite you here to ask you for a chance. I invited you here because I’m letting you go and I wanted you to know before they fade away that you were very dear to me.”

 

And before The Woman could answer, he’d lay a chaste kiss on her hand before leaving.

 

Shin-ae’s left hand, the one Kousuke had touched, tingles. She glances down at it, feeling betrayed. She’s not The Woman. She doesn’t have what it takes to be The Woman, even if his mother encourages her in her own disturbing way to be with her older son.

 

The bell rings, announcing the end of the day. Shin-ae packs her notebook devoid of any notes and her pencil case, not even opened, in her schoolbag and slings it on her shoulders.

 

“Shin-ae, have you talked to Yeong-Gi?”

 

“No,” she answers after a moment. Dieter frowns, his grip around his phone steel-like making her stomach churn with dread. “What happened?”

 

“He’s searching for his brother. He didn’t come to the job today, he wasn’t answering his texts or his calls and he wasn’t home when Yeong-Gi went to check.”

 

She controls her breath, refusing to give in to panic. “Q-Tip? I... I don’t know where he’d be.”

 

Dieter offers her a shaky smile before nodding, “Ok. I’ll tell Yeong-Gi.”

 

“Wait,” she intervenes, taking out her own phone. “I’ll tell him myself.”

 

The German nods, staring at her intently. Since she was doing nothing, he gets the implied message and leaves in hurry, carrying his open schoolbag in his arms. When she’s certain no one’s around, she dials Yeong-Gi’s number, the redhead picking at the first ring, his voice frantic.

 

“Shin-ae, have you seen my brother?”

 

“I have something to tell you. I went to see my father yesterday at the hospital and I saw him. He had an appointment with a doctor or something, I don’t know... Perhaps you should check—”

 

“A doctor? Is he sick?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

But it’s a lie. She knows all too well. She’s lying for Kousuke’s sake and also because she shouldn’t be the one announcing that he’s suffering from Hanahaki disease. Yet at this point, she’s practically an accidental member of the family since wherever she goes, she always stumbles on one of the two Hirahara brothers or worse, their mother herself.

 

“Yeong-Gi,” she starts, resolved, but he cuts her off.

 

“I’m picking you up in three minutes at the school gate.”

 

He hangs up before she can answer. For a brief moment, her first instinct’s to duck and hide. Going home involves walking from the school to her home in an execrable rainy weather, but it doesn’t sound as bad as avoiding Yeong-Gi. It’s not like rain would kill her.

 

Yet running away doesn’t make any sense. She shouldn’t feel guilty. It’s none of her business. Q-Tip is none of her business, not his health, not his love life. The Hirahara are dangerous people. They’re black holes pulling her in. She doesn’t stand a chance.

 

_Is it because of me?_

 

Yes, the Hirahara are dangerous people, but they’re far from black holes. They’re two planets where life thrives while she stands in her own universe, miles away. She’s fooling herself, thinking she can breathe their pure air, thinking she has the strength to leave her father behind like her mother did with her. This universe she grew in, lonely and gloomy, is the only one she belongs to.

 

It’s not because of her. It’s because that’s how life works.

 

“Shin-ae!” She startles as a car screeches to a halt beside her, the door already swinging open, revealing Yeong-Gi. “Get in. We’re going to the check at the hospital.”

 

“You should go,” is her automatic response.

 

He frowns, shaking his head, “What are you talking about? Get in.”

 

“It’s your brother, not mine.”

 

 _Kousuke. Call me Kousuke_ , he had told her on the night of his birthday, a smile dawning on his lips.

 

She didn’t see him afterwards, not until yesterday at the hospital. She called him Mr Hirahara then because the Hirahara are dangerous people. To stand beside them in their bountiful universe is a chimera for someone like her.

 

Yeong-Gi is still waiting, his arm still outstretched and holding the door from inside the car. He peers at her and instead of letting her drown in her misery he gets out of the car with nothing to protect him from the rain. She tenses when his hands curl around her shoulders, the touch foreign.

 

“What’s wrong, Shin-ae?”

 

Kousuke’s hand was cold when he had laid it on hers. At the time, the coldness was refreshing, anchoring him. Yeong-Gi’s hands, on the contrary, are intolerably hot.

 

“You should go,” she repeats, jerking away.

 

He doesn’t fight against her, which she’s thankful for, but he doesn’t leave her side. The car blocks the entrance, others honking behind them, and students stare at them in both curiosity and impatience. It’s getting ridiculous.

 

“I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong. Did he do something?” His soft tone hardens and she catches his fists clenching. “Did Kousuke do something?”

 

He did, in a way. He stole the tiramisu that was rightfully hers. He strapped her to wheelchair while he interrogated her. He erased the beard and unibrow drawn in permanent maker without judgment. He let her eat one of the most delicious cakes she ever ate — not that she’d admit it. He bought her a shirt, even two, since the first one got ruined by wine. He apologised for Megan’s behaviour even if he didn’t do anything. He put his hand on hers. He told her to call him Kousuke.

 

And what did she do in return? She threw steak at him. She bit him. She denied it was a good cake. She didn’t thank him for the shirt, insisted he didn’t have to buy a second one. She retracted her hand. She called him Mr Hirahara, too afraid that calling him by his first name would change something between them.

 

She watched him choking on red carnations.

 

“Shin-ae?”

 

She almost forgot about Yeong-Gi. “Let’s go,” she settles on saying, pushing him inside the car, not giving him time to be shocked at her one-hundred-eighty degree turn.

 

They drive to the hospital as fast as the speed limit allows it, sometimes exceeding it a little. Yeong-Gi doesn’t even wait for the car to still when they arrive at the hospital, bursting from the vehicle and stalking towards the entrance. Shin-ae isn’t too far on his trail.

 

The receptionist at the desk is the same one than yesterday, more alert and with more makeup. “Mr Hirahara,” She greets, her eyes then darting on Shin-ae. “And you...”

 

“Where’s my brother?”

 

Her smile is false when she declares, “He’s not—”

 

Yeong-Gi slams one fist on the counter, startling her. “I know he’s here. Shin-ae wouldn’t lie.”

 

“Actually,” she whispers beside him, “I never said he would be there. I just thought it could be place we could check.”

 

“My brother was here yesterday,” he continues as if he didn’t hear her, “and he had an appointment with a doctor. I want to know what it was about.”

 

The receptionist’s smile wavers but doesn’t disappear as she answers like textbook, “Mr Hirahara, you must understand that like any other hospitals we have a strict rule forbidding us to reveal anything that might involve our patients’ privacy.”

 

“So you admit it? He’s a patient here?”

 

The receptionist looks down at the counter, swallowing. She didn’t need to open her mouth to give them the answer they needed. Just as Yeong-Gi is about to insist even more, a familiar voice snaps behind them.

 

“Enough, Nol.”

 

Both Yeong-Gi and Shin-ae stiffen and whirl around to see Kousuke glaring at them. He’s not in a hospital gown, far from it, but clad in his usual attire. Nothing seems amiss, but it’s a question of appearance only.

 

“So is it true that you saw a doctor yesterday?” Yeong-Gi asks, ignoring the receptionist who lets out a small sigh of relief to focus on his brother.

 

“Yes, it is. It was a routine check, nothing more.” Chills roll down Shin-ae’s back as Kousuke doesn’t even blink when he lies. As if sensing her discomfort, his blue eyes land on her. “I even met Miss Yoo on my way there. Isn’t that right, Miss Yoo?”

 

Her throat’s too tight to answer so she nods, silent. Yeong-Gi, however, is relentless.

 

“If it’s just a routine check, then why didn’t you come to work this morning?”

 

“I fail to see the correlation between my visit to the hospital and my absence to the office. I apologise if taking over for the day was too much for you. I guarantee it won’t happen again.”

 

“It wasn’t too much for me,” the redhead replies. “I did just fine. More than fine, according to Jayce. He said I was impressive.”

 

“Of course he’d be impressed that you managed so much today without me.”

 

Shin-ae watches them falling in their usual bickering with a heavy heart. By riling Yeong-Gi up and tacitly disregarding his work, Kousuke’s distracting him from the important matter at hand: his presence at the hospital. By assuming the role of the condescending older brother, Kousuke’s keeping his secret safe.

 

“I wonder why I even bothered worrying for you,” Yeong-Gi ends their argument with a growl. “You never change. Let’s go, Shin-ae.”

 

He doesn’t wait for her before storming away.

 

“I wonder, yes,” Kousuke echoes, folding his arms. “You shouldn’t make him wait, Miss Yoo.”

 

The thought of abandoning him doesn’t cross her mind. With Yeong-Gi gone, they can discuss what happened yesterday. While she doesn’t move, he does, ambling towards the exit and next to her as if she happened to be invisible.

 

“Wait!” She catches his trench coat’s sleeve. “Aren’t we going to talk?”

 

His face’s the picture of puzzlement. “About?”

 

“Like you don’t know what I’m talking about,” she snorts. “You didn’t come to your job because of the disease but you didn’t tell Yeong-Gi about it.”

 

“There’s nothing we should talk about, Miss Yoo.”

 

It hurts more than it should’ve. It’s not like she can do something. It’s not like she can convince him to stop loving or find The Woman and convince her to love him. It’s not like talking about it will arrange things. He’s right after all, but she refuses to release her grip.

 

“Let go of me, Miss Yoo.” His tone filters irritation and he tugs harder with no success. “People are looking at us.”

 

“How much time until you’ll die?” She counters, which causes him to glare down at her.

 

“Not so loud or everyone will hear you,” he hisses.

 

“How about I let you go and you talk with me?”

 

It’s weak bribery but Shin-ae knows it’s going to work. Kousuke of all people wants to maintain a pristine image of himself even if he’s withering from inside. He ends up asking for an empty conference room on the first floor where no one will overhear them, as he claims.

 

She’s led through a maze of corridors because he barricades them in a room. She barely has the time to observe her surroundings before Kousuke speaks.

 

“As to answer your question, I’m not planning on dying anytime soon.”

 

“But you’re not planning on taking the surgery, are you?”

 

His face’s set in stone as he retorts, “What if I am?”

 

Her jaw drops. “Because that’s wrong.”

 

“And love is right?” His eyes flash, as if darker clouds had gathered in those blue skies and were thundering. “Love is something pure? Love is happiness? I’m sorry, Miss Yoo, but that’s not the case. Not my case, at least.”

 

She’s too struck by his vehemence to answer back. Kousuke rose his voice once against her and it had concerned Yeong-Gi’s wellbeing. This time, however, Yeong-Gi wasn’t involved but deep down it was the same thing. Kousuke was protecting his brother. Now he’s protecting himself.

 

“I know you’re suffering. You don’t say it and you don’t let it show but... I know you do. Hanahaki disease’s only a fraction of what you’re feeling.”

 

“I don’t need you to tell me what I already know.”

 

“What I’m trying to say is that you don’t have to suffer. Tell her you love her. She might love you back, who knows?” There’s a pang in her heart as she murmurs the last words, wondering why The Woman wouldn’t love him back.

 

There’s no hesitation in his voice as he says, “She doesn’t.”

 

“You’re so quick to denigrate yourself. Of course she doesn’t love you back if you don’t give her a chance to. You have to try,” she insists, ignoring the growing pain in her own chest. “I think it’s admirable to love someone with all your heart. She can’t be insensible to that, can she?”

 

 _Rejection is rejection. I make no exceptions_.

 

Isn’t she the one who said that, once in a lifetime? What if The Woman has the same mindset? Dieter felt obviously down for many days but flowers didn’t grow in his lungs. If The Woman rejects Kousuke, would he even survive it?

 

Shina-ae edges closer, examining his face. A frown is constantly plastered on his features when a man his age should be serious, yes, but also capable of hanging out with friends and smiling. The pallor of his unblemished skin reflects the time he spent indoors working instead of living a life free of most of the responsibilities burdening his shoulders. His icy blue eyes thaw ever so rarely, but when they do they reveal an ocean whose depths are unknown yet alluring.

 

She brings her hand close to his. Her pinky finger moves in his direction, brushing his ever so slightly that she doesn’t know if he felt it. He doesn’t flinch back, which is a good sign.

 

“Miss Yoo.”

 

She draws her hand away immediately, expecting a rebuke which doesn’t come. His eyes shine with an unreadable light as they focus on her.

 

“Why are you caring so much?”

 

Her eloquence is squashed against his question’s disarming simplicity. It should be easy to answer. It shouldn’t necessitate seconds of careful thinking, only to realise that nothing comes to her mind as she struggles to answer. She shouldn’t have to struggle.

 

“I see,” Kousuke murmurs. “It’s for my brother.”

 

He shatters her concentration and all she can utter is, “Uh?”

 

“He wants you to make sure I’m alright since he’s too prideful to do it himself so he asked you.”

 

“That’s not true,” she protests. “I’m doing this for myself.”

 

“Then why are you doing this for yourself? What’s there to win?”

 

“Do I need to win something to act? If you take the surgery, you’ll never feel again.”

 

Kousuke faces her without shame as he ripostes, “What if it’s what I want?”

 

“But...” The words are caught in her throat, just like the tears rising unbidden to her eyes. “But if you never feel again, you’ll never...”

 

“I’ll never love? Why does everyone make it seem like it’s the most horrifying thing? It doesn’t matter if I love her if she doesn’t love me back.”

 

Shin-ae feels like someone stabbed her. Is this how it is? Is it pointless to hope to live on the same wavelength as a Hirahara if he doesn’t want her to? Why is she even hoping in the first place? After all this time, she would’ve thought she knew better than to expect anything.

 

So why is it tearing her apart to let go of this hope? Why is watching him head towards the exit, checking his watch, makes her want to cry?

 

“If you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment with someone,” he tells her as he opens the door.

 

“ _Kousuke!_ ”

 

He freezes in the threshold at her shout. A few seconds pass between them, each waiting for the other to make a move. The standstill breaks when he steps on the other side of the door, not even glancing at her as he speaks.

 

“Have a good day, Miss Yoo.”

 

And in a heartbeat, he leaves.


	3. They

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ENJOY

They don’t speak for the next days or ask for news on each other. They don’t meet for the next days or even think of planning a meeting. But they think of each other every day, even if they’d rather clear their minds.

 

They both wake up feeling full; one full of regrets and one full of flowers. They both go to their respective buildings; one to school and one to Hirahara Corps. They both wonder how things could’ve happened differently.

 

_Kousuke!_

 

He would’ve answered, “Miss Yoo, Shin-ae, I’m afraid I have feelings towards you that transcend more than friendship...”

 

“Kousuke,” she would’ve continued, “if you never feel again, I’ll never have a chance to make you fall in love with me...”

 

 _Have a good day_ ,  _Miss Yoo_.

 

And just like that, both of their dreams shattered as they parted ways.

 

* * *

 

Red carnations.

 

Red eyes wide, concerned, almost betrayed.

 

Kousuke wakes up in a start, one hand shooting to his chest. The pressure that’s been growing there since the disease first manifested itself is fading. Yet the flow of flowers is as steady as ever, although less frequent. It comes in spontaneous bursts, leaving him panting yet he has less trouble regaining his breath than before.

 

Still, he reaches for his phone on his nightside table and sends a message to his brother notifying him he’s not coming to the office... again. It’s the second day that Kousuke deemed it safer to stay at home, asking Jayce to send him the most important documents which he reads at home.

 

It’ll also be the last day if everything goes well.

 

Just as the ‘Read’ mention appears below his sent message his phone rings in his hands. He considers shutting it down for a second but he’s aware it’d be futile. His brother’s one of the most stubborn people he’s ever known and avoiding him would only encourage him.

 

“Nol,” he greets after clearing his throat.

 

“You’re sick, is that it? You’re dying?”

 

The fleeting thought that Miss Yoo revealed his secret crosses his mind but he suppresses it instantly. They may have not parted on the best terms but she respects one’s privacy and wishes. Kousuke berates himself for event thinking about Shin-ae telling his secret. Being blunt must be one of Yeong-Gi’s stratagems to discover the reason why he’s not coming to the office.

 

“No, I’m not.”

 

“You’re lying. I looked at your schedule,” Yeong-Gi admits after a few beats. “I saw that you have an appointment with Doctor Suzuki.”

 

 _Sneaky bastard_ , he can’t help but curse inwardly. How did Yeong-Gi even manage to access his schedule? It hardly matters at the moment. While Kousuke applauds himself for writing something as vague as ‘Appointment’, the information’s still leaked.

 

“Yes, I have but it doesn’t mean I’m sick or even worse, dying. You may wish it to be true but I’m not going anywhere for a few decades.”

 

“You’re not changing the subject. I’m not as stupid as you think I am. Those specks I saw on your shirt the other day, it was blood. And the way you always look at Shin-ae...”

 

Kousuke swallows down the lump down his throat as he retorts, “What about her?”

 

“You never looked at women twice but with her it’s different. When you think no one sees you, you’re always looking at her.”

 

In his younger, more impulsive years, he would’ve hung up before any more there’s more damage. However, he’s petrified, one hand gripping the phone pressed to his ear and the other, curling into a fist and crumpling the sheets.

 

“And you’re not looking at her like you do with other women. You’re not smiling but you’re not frowning either. I’d say that it’s an improvement in your case...”

 

His mother urged him many times to take a spouse, or at least meet new people hoping he’d encounter someone striking his fancy. Much to her dismay, his defence’s always been impenetrable for the simple fact that there’s never been any interest, any spark, any desire for love. Yet Miss Yoo...

 

“... but if I have to be honest, I’d say you look sad.”

 

When did he begin slipping around her to the point that his brother became observant, or perhaps when did it first become apparent to someone as oblivious as Yeong-Gi? The mask he wears started fissuring without his awareness, exposing a part of him he’d better get rid of. Love’s treated as a weakness in the Hirahara family, and he’s been taught at the earliest age to cut ties with any of his weakness, to crush them before they crush him.

 

But he’s too weak around Yoo Shin-ae.

 

“Hey, you still there?” Yeong-Gi calls on the other end of the line, uncertain.

 

He’d rather let her crush him than to carry out what he learned.

 

“Tell Jayce he can forward a few emails to my personal message box if he feels the need to. Thank you for your understanding.”

 

“Kousuke—”

 

But his finger already pressed the red button, ending the call. He doesn’t even have the time to put his phone away when it rings again. A little bit immature, perhaps, he denies the call and slumps back in his bed.

 

**7:16 — From: Nol**

_Answer me_

 

“I’d rather not,” he scoffs and as if his brother heard his answer, another message appears on his screen with a ping. “Or I’ll tell Shin-ae how you feel about her...” He reads aloud.

 

He straightens in his bed, his thumbs typing so fast his phone’s shaking in his hands.

 

**7:17 — To: Nol**

_You’re being childish trying to find trouble when there’s none. Don’t involve Miss Yoo and stop messaging me._

 

After a minute spent glaring at his phone, as if daring Yeong-Gi to defy his wish, and receiving no more notifications, he tosses the device further on his bed.

 

 _When you think no one sees you, you’re always looking at her_.

 

Red eyes pleading him not to take the surgery.

 

 _You’re not smiling but you’re not frowning either_.

 

Red eyes crinkled in frustration, calling him by his first name.

 

 _I’d say you look sad_.

 

Red carnations rising in his clotted throat, choking him.

 

* * *

 

Shin-ae stares at her reflection in the mirror, slapping her cheeks hard enough to leave them red.

 

“It’s impossible,” she mumbles to herself as she crosses her arms.

 

Instead of pondering on the question that’s been trotting in her head since she spoke with Kousuke, she should get ready to go to high school. Grabbing her toothbrush, she stares at it as if it holds the answer to everything she’d ask.

 

“I don’t love him,” she mutters.

 

But even as she brushes her teeth, she’s not convinced. She bends down to spit and when she straightens, her eyebrows are furrowed and her expression, miserable.

 

“I can’t.”

 

 _Why not?_ Her toothbrush seems to counter.

 

“Because,” she grumbles.

 

But it’s not a valid reason, she knows as much. She’s running away instead of confronting whatever bothers her unlike usual. It unnerves her how prudent she’s acting, forcing herself to forget about their conversation at the hospital, to shut her eyes in front of his condition.

 

It’s his problem, so why does it feel like she has a part to do with it?

 

Shin-ae glances at her phone laying on the counter, indicating that her first class in the morning starts in less than thirty minutes. Before she can reason with herself, she grabs it and selects a number from her contacts’ list labelled as ‘Q-Tip’.

 

Her wait is agonising as the phone rings. She called him only once before yet it doesn’t even count since it was Maya impersonating her. Does she even have the right to own his number? The reason she has it was for Kousuke to repay his debt but now that he did, she feels like she shouldn’t call him.

 

As she debates with herself, Kousuke picks up and she listens with baited breath.

 

“Nol, how many times do I have tell you I’m not coming today?”

 

“Uhm...?”

 

She hears the shift in his voice, snappiness vanishing and bafflement tinting his tone. “Miss Yoo?”

 

It surprises her even more that Kousuke recognised her by a simple word. She doesn’t know whether she should rejoice or be concerned about it. “Yes, it’s me.”

 

“What can I do for you?”

 

His previous shock is replaced with cool politeness. Kousuke’s always so distinguished, unshakable. She wonders again how impressive The Woman must be to steal his heart.

 

“It’s a good thing you’re not working today because I need to talk to you,” she tells him.

 

“I’m afraid I’ll be unavailable all day.”

 

“What do you mean?” Her heart sinks as she catches up with his words. “Today’s the surgery.”

 

His silence’s all the answer she needs. It’s like she’s been punched in the gut. Neither of them speaks for a long time yet neither hangs up, listening to each other’s breathing. Shin-ae bites her lower lip so he doesn’t hear her swears of frustration.

 

“We can talk,” Kousuke concedes, breaking the silence, “but I want you to respect my decision and try not to dissuade me.”

 

“I...” The words refuse to come out. It’s almost like she’s the one choking on flowers.

 

“I apologise if I make you distraught but I’m not standing down.”

 

She wipes her eyes, declaring, “I’m not either.”

 

“Then I fear we’re at a standstill.”

 

“We’re not. Meet me at the cafe near your hospital in thirty minutes.”

 

“Miss Yoo,” he begins, no doubt to protest, but she cuts him off.

 

“If you’re not there, then I’ll wait for you in the hospital the time it will take.”

 

She hangs up before he has time to answer. Releasing a breath she didn’t realise she was holding, she sits on the floor, her knees drawn to her chest. Her phone’s screen stares at her, showing her call history and confirming her fears.

 

“I can’t believe I really did this,” she whispers, letting her forehead rest on her knees.

 

But it’s better than before. She’s confronting the problem. So much that dread’s making her stomach coil despite the determination setting her heart afire.

 

Neither of them is backing down but Shin-ae intends to make him change his mind.

 

* * *

 

They meet at the agreed place a few minutes apart from each other.

 

He’s already there when she arrives, seated at the table near the window and stirring his cup of tea absentmindedly. Their eyes cross as she walks in front of the coffee house.

 

He stands up as she heads towards him, rounding the table and pulling her chair like the perfect gentleman. They look away from each other in silence as she sits.

 

“Thank you,” she whispers, inwardly thanking the cold air for colouring her cheeks red beforehand.

 

“It’s natural.”

 

Of course it is. It’s not because she’s The Woman.

 

She observes the menu in front of her but nothing sounds appetising. Although she didn’t eat anything this morning in her hurry, she didn’t feel hungry the slightest bit.

 

“I suggest the tiramisu.” Her eyes flicker to him but he’s engrossed in the menu that he holds in front of him so it conceals half of his face. “It’s not the best in town but it’s not bad either.”

 

Under other circumstances, she would’ve teased him for eating a dessert at eight thirty in the morning. This time, her throat is knotted and her attempt to lighten the mood is weak.

 

“If I take it, you’re not going to steal it from me, right?”

 

He doesn’t laugh. Not that she expected him to anyway. The memory of their first meeting is mingled with embarrassment and amusement but overall, she thinks about it with fondness.

 

“I won’t,” he replies. “I’m taking the maple crème brûlée.”

 

He puts the menu back on the table, revealing his expression but there’s not much to be seen. He’s as impenetrable as ever and his eyes, covered with the thickest floes.

 

“I’m not here to eat,” she admits.

 

A familiar scowl settles on his face. “I am.”

 

“I’m not going to stop you from eating but I want to know more about The Woman.”

 

“The Woman?” He repeats, one of his eyebrows lifting.

 

“The woman you’re in love with.”

 

“Are you sure you want me to elaborate on her? There won’t be any reason to tomorrow.”

 

“Exactly. Tell me about her before you forget,” she presses forward.

 

He sighs, folding his napkin to busy himself. Looking in hindsight, he probably should’ve refused her invitation. He still can’t fathom why he accepted.

 

The waitress coming to take their — or rather his — orders saves him from speaking. He uses those precious seconds to formulate an answer detailed enough to satiate Shin-ae’s curiosity but that wouldn’t give her identity away.

 

“I met her in a ball. She didn’t strike me much at first. I met her again a few times after and while our encounters remained professional, I assume she charmed me.”

 

“What did she do?”

 

“I don’t recall a particular event. She was being herself.”

 

They don’t speak for the next seconds, gauging each other’s reaction.

 

He may look stoical but his eyes soften when he talks about her.

 

She may seem neutral but her lips twitch and form a grimace when she queries him.

 

Neither knows if they should continue this conversation or end it.

 

“When did you first realise you... had feelings for her?”

 

“It was the flowers. It became quite clear then.”

 

They pause again, lost in their thoughts.

 

He’d never forget when he coughed red carnations. He crumpled them in his fist and threw them in the trash bin, convinced it would be an isolated occurrence. Convinced he wasn’t in love. But the next day, even lying to himself couldn’t save him.

 

She’d never forget when he coughed red carnations. She crouched beside him, watching as the flowers within his lungs were expelled and disbelieving it. Disbelieving the fact he was in love. But the next, even lying to herself couldn’t save her.

 

“Can I know her name?”

 

His eyes widen of a fraction at her boldness. “No.”

 

“I promise I won’t tell her.”

 

“My answer’s the same.”

 

“But I—”

 

“My private life doesn’t concern you, Miss Yoo.”

 

Their hearts both sink.

 

He’s right. There’s no place for her in his heart because of The Woman.

 

She can’t know that every pore of his skin and every crevasse of his soul are yearning for her.

 

Neither of them opens their mouths afterwards.

 

The waitress brings Kousuke’s dessert with a smile that starts wavering when she senses the tense atmosphere. She leaves as soon as she arrived but they barely notice her. Even the maple crème brûlée he ordered remains untouched.

 

“I apologise for making you waste your time, Miss Yoo.”

 

“You can call me Shin-ae.”

 

He inclines his head. “Miss Shin-ae, then.”

 

She rolls her eyes, chuckling, “Just Shin-ae.”

 

There’s a few seconds of silence before he complies, tentative. “Shin-ae.”

 

She nods, smiling, even if tears threaten to spill from her eyes. “Kousuke.”

 

His face changes. It takes her a moment before understanding what’s happening. His lips are curled upwards, wobbling as if they’re exerting themselves. She blinks and the sight’s gone but it’s engraved in her head.

 

“You smiled,” she whispers.

 

“So did you.”

 

They both break into a smile, him using his hand to cover it and her bowing her head to hide it.

 

“Shin-ae,” he starts at the same time that she murmurs his name — his first name. If anything, his smile broadens as a coral shade dawns on his cheeks. “Ladies first.”

 

“Kousuke, you asked me what’s in it for me to convince you not to take the surgery. It’s not for you or even for your brother. I did it for me. Now I’m asking you again, for me, because I can’t help being selfish, that you change your mind. I’m sure that The Woman’s someone wonderful for claiming your heart but... but I’d like to have the chance to become her.”

 

“Are you saying...?”

 

He halts in mid-sentence, colours draining from his face. She stiffens, one hand reaching out to him and grasping his. They both stare at their clasped hands.

 

“Whatever you’ll choose... I won’t stop you.”

 

“Are you sure about how you feel?”

 

She swallows, nodding, “I know you don’t—”

 

“I do,” he interjects, his voice strained and his eyes still riveted on their hands. “You are The Woman, Shin-ae.”

 

Their heads spin and their gazes lock.

 

It’s too good to be true, she tells herself.

 

It’s a dream and I’ll wake up soon, he concludes.

 

“It fits,” she realises. “How you met the Woman... it fits.”

 

“And you didn’t do anything in particular,” he continues. “You’re you and that’s all I can ask for.”

 

The tears she’s been trying to hold stream down her face but she’s smiling. It must be the adrenaline, or perhaps simply happiness, but he’s smiling too, with far more restraint, although his authenticity can’t be doubted.

 

It seems easier to breathe. The roots in his chest are shrivelling because her smile’s so bright it scorches them. The vines dry out and release his heart that pumps faster than ever. The flowers he grew so accustomed to are still there, but in a day or two they’ll turn to dust and free his airways.

 

He’s going to miss the carnations’ colour.

 

But Yoo Shin-ae is grinning at him with eyes of a red so vibrant it’s imprinted in his mind, in his heart, in his soul.

 

Red eyes that love him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me sink with this ship and I'll be forever happy


End file.
